Witch Saintess

Chapter 8: Intervention

I glance over at the announcer. Nothing. I'm going to have to do this myself. I stand up and throw my arms wide.

"Ahem! Head witch-hunter Candidate Leon Alonzo is the winner!" I exclaim, taking a breath to equal out my posture, to remove the uncertainty if there will be blood spilled or not.

Leon looked up at me, an unreadable expression on his face, sweat glittering on his brow like the sea. Moreno scrambled to stand up, his eyes meeting mine as he nodded curtly. Leon caught him looking and turned his gaze slowly to the crowd, confidence building now.

Was he disappointed, was he curious, was he frustrated? I couldn't tell beyond whatever he was projecting now.

The crowd muttered uneasily, looking up at me. A patter of panic stirred in my chest. It was only me, Silvera and the guards. I didn't have much of a way to settle them down if they chose to rebel. I had to think of something, and from the look on Silvera's face, she would be pretty much useless.

"All for the mercy of Candidate Liora!" The voice shocked me, and I saw Leon drop into a shallow bow, despite his injuries.

I could have screamed with relief. Thank Forest for Leon. Or Head Witch-Hunter Leon. He looked up at me, an easy, faintly amused smile on his face. I smiled enigmatically out at the crowd, feeling anger and frustration fade to cheers, as I gestured for more 'entertainment' to be brought out.

This time, it was some fool who used to be employed to some noble's court, disgraced and left to rot here, but these people didn't have to know that.

Moreno picked up his stuff, and left, slinking away. Leon, on the other hand vaulted out, to cheers, not fully at ease with him yet, but they'd just have to deal with it until I got some tasks allocated to boost his reputation, and mine by association.

I watched the fool caper around for a bit, randomly insulting people in the crowd, spitting out poetry to some badly tuned lute, and generally being pesky. I doesn't matter though, it's entertainment, easy enough to pay in dregs of wine we have lying around.

There is some roaring laughter as the fool insults a well built man, who seems to have had a little too much to drink. Great. Looks like there will be a boxing match.

I peer over at Silvera, a small, small smile lurking on her lips. More people would like her if she showed that smile more often. It makes my witch's heart pay attention, because you can almost sense the joy in that innocent face, almost drink it in.

It makes being near her rewarding.

It's amusing to me that such a coy girl finds a fool like that entertaining, like the masses, but I suppose not everyone can be perfect. Her hair, if it weren't covered, would shine in this light, but just her eyes are fine, it makes me remember the first time I saw her.

She was so small, so, so small. Malnourishment like this made her look like a bird with clipped wings. There was straw in her hair, black as tar, like the rare darkness that occurs only in the most beautiful midnight, and the most closed off rooms. But her eyes, though sorrowful, were this light, floating, almost silver-grey, especially as they bubbled with tears.

Her face was covered in dirt, and the rags she wore showed two deep indigo bruises on her knees. All I could do was stare at them, because they looked so painfully offensive on such an innocent, scared looking girl that they almost made me flinch.

I knew from the rumors that had already reached me that she was the devoted prayer. I'd never had bruises nearly as bad as that. I just prevented them, but these... Were something else.

I knew with certainly I'd rarely felt that whoever this was, was the true saintess. I was just lucky she looked like an urchin, that I hadn't been cast out yet, but...

I had to do something to survive, and this girl, pathetic as she was, stood in the way of everything I ever wanted in the jewels and prizes of the world. And when she turned nineteen, they'd have to choose.

I shook my head and snapped myself out of it, realizing everyone was staring up at me. I wondered what had happened, and saw the fool pointing up at me, a wicked smile on his face, and the reek of cheap beer on his breath.

He jumped up onto the wooden railing, and wobbled his way closer. It was a miracle he didn't fall and crack his head open on the cobbles. A miracle or a shame?

I flinched, as a gut reaction from hearing the voice, feeling it coming from the eel spirit as it stirred the fabric of the air, circling me, contempt in it's voice as it sneered down at the fool. I wondered if I was still daydreaming, but the unsettling adjustment of the binding around my heart told me I was awake.

I shot it a look, and it sighed, disappearing from the present invisibility it was existing in, dissolving back into just a suggestion in the spirit world, just to talk to me, I had something to deal with.

"You can't say that about the candidate!" I heard voices whisper.

I scanned my mind, and nearly froze realizing what the fool said. "And, we will soon see from our places in the stage which of the puppets is a liar, and which will bring us glory."

The words were truer than anyone else ever knew, stinking deep into me. I had to do something. Refute it, have him arrested, do anything!

But again, I heard a voice, saving me again.

"Detain him." Moreno points at two of the guards near the edge of the tent pavilion I and Silvera watch from.

"Yes, ..." They hesitate slightly.

"Yes? He just insulted our future saintess!" Moreno snarls.

"Yes, sir!" They rush to get the fool, embarrassingly slow compared to a drunk idiot, who hops on top of the barricades, dancing his way along, to rough laughter from the crowd, who make no move to stop him.

I look down at Moreno, who seems equally unimpressed, as the fool finally escapes, skipping off with an insane laugh. I will have to do something about that, but the fact that Moreno did something is good, I don't see Leon anywhere, but I guess he's probably changing for the victory and announcement banquet.

That marks my time to go, and I shoot a look at Silvera, her smile widened a little bit. She noticed and followed me out, giving one of those tired sighs that indicates she was using way too much energy making little corrections to appear perfect. I guess it must be really hard to have to sit next to me watching something you hate while  you are constantly compared to a better version of you.

When we get back, I wait in the corridor for Silvera to show up. I can hear her approach, and due to the banquet, the hall is quiet. Good.